


Come Hell or High Water

by Jennicide (yenyen)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Including New Jersey, Layers of Hell, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Wade Is Too Extra, movie references everywhere, satanic rituals, spontaneous adventure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28307340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yenyen/pseuds/Jennicide
Summary: When Spider-Man gets roped into some occult nonsense courtesy of his frenemy, the mercenary formerly known as Deadpool, it’s all he can do to hang on to his sanity as they navigate their way through hell and back. No,literally.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13
Collections: Spideypool Priest Fest 2020





	Come Hell or High Water

**Author's Note:**

> This was written purely to prove you can submit all sorts of content for the Priest Fest events without actually involving either of the main characters as priests. Hope it inspires folks to generate more content and that you have as many laughs reading it as I had writing it. Part two is coming soon.
> 
> Extra special big thanks to [doctoring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctoring) for encouraging me to participate and betaing last minute. You da bestest!

* * *

  
This was not how Peter had planned on spending his Sunday night. After a long week of patrolling until dawn, he had hoped to take the night off and rest up in preparation for work on Monday. Alas, that was not happening, not since he’d finally gotten a solid lead on the disappearance cases.

Peter had been following those for the past week, and they were very peculiar, most notably because of the type of people going missing. Every single one of them was a self-proclaimed Satanist. Peter almost didn’t believe it himself. It had all started earlier that week with just one, but by Sunday morning, a total of six New York residents were gone without a trace. None of the local news outlets had reported much on the situation, but it wasn’t really a wonder to Peter. Folks like that were most often discriminated against because of their unusual religious inclinations, and, likely, this was no different.

Normally, this wasn’t the sort of thing Spider-Man bothered with either, but there was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that if he didn’t investigate, no one would. Because that’s what Spider-Man was all about, protecting those who were overlooked and forgotten. The disenfranchised would always be his kind of people in need of saving.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself and why he was making his way to some abandoned piers just outside of Long Island even though he’d rather be at home getting ready for bed. The closer he got to the abandoned warehouse, the more on edge he began to feel. Something wasn’t right; his Spidey-sense could tell, but what it was, Peter didn’t know. This lead itself had come up purely by chance.

He’d been walking out of his local deli, having stopped on the way home to pick up some sandwich bread, more air than bread, when he overheard a couple of young punks talking nearby in an alley. They sounded spooked and appeared to know one of the missing people Peter had been searching all week long. Keeping out of sight but still within earshot, he’d managed to catch the tail end of their conversation.

They’d already gone to the police to file a missing person report the day before, they said, and that was where he learned the last known ping from their friend’s GPS was out in the boonies of Long Island. But that didn’t make any sense, Peter heard one kid remark. Why would that friend leave the city and go all the way out there for no reason? It wasn’t funny, and they wished that person would turn their phone back on so they could check if they were all right. The police had said they’d follow up on it, but had yet to deliver despite receiving such a critical piece of evidence.

Never one to mind his own business, Peter had trailed the teens until he was able to switch into his Spider-Man costume and ask them for more info about their friend. He got the coordinates easily enough; they wanted their buddy back, and he was on his way shortly thereafter, tomorrow’s air bread long forgotten with his civilian clothing in an alleyway.

It only took Peter about two hours to zone in on the GPS location, and then it was as easy as following his instincts, his spider instincts, to the right warehouse. All of the buildings along the shoreline were clearly falling into disarray. It was no wonder those kids had remarked on how little sense it made for their friend to be out here. Peter shot a web at a corner of one warehouse and silently slinked up the brick wall to a window. Sure, he could go kicking the front door down, guns a-blazing, but that wasn’t his style. Think first, then shoot and ask questions later. Lucky for him, the window he’d chosen was clean enough to see through.

A quick look inside revealed five robed figures seated on the edges of a star-like shape. It was a pentagram, Peter’s mind supplied, a symbol often associated with the occult and/or dark magic. Their faces were visible, but none of them looked very happy. Peter didn’t imagine he would be either if someone had stuffed a gag in his mouth, tied him up, and left him sitting on a cold cement floor. The most important thing to note was that they were five of the six missing people he’d been searching for. But the sixth… Peter turned his attention toward the center of the pentagram. In it, with a book in their hands, stood another hooded figure. Right next to them was… Peter dropped his forehead into an open palm. He’d recognize that red suit and those katanas anywhere. Deadpool aka the Merc with a Mouth aka the most obnoxious anti-hero Spider-Man had ever had the displeasure of deciding to be pseudo-friends with.

Peter wanted to groan out loud. He wanted to turn around and leave and let someone else handle this, but he knew no one would be coming if he left right now. And while kidnapping and holding people against their will was probably one of the least offensive things Deadpool had ever done, it was still illegal and not something Spider-Man could overlook, no matter what kind of people the merc was targeting.

He watched Deadpool lean over and point to one of the pages in the robed figure’s book. Robe guy didn’t seem to like it and swatted his gloved hand away. They appeared to be arguing over something, and Peter realized he could use their momentary distraction to his advantage.

Slowly, oh so slowly, his fingertips pressed on the glass of the warehouse window and tilted it open to slip inside. No one noticed the man in the red and blue costume, and Peter made sure to keep out of sight of the two in the middle of the pentagram.

“Whaddya mean you can’t do it?” He heard Deadpool whine. “I didn’t spend a small fortune on that damn Necronomicon for you to tell me no.”

“Sir,” the robed figure interjected, “there is no such thing as the Necronomicon.”

“Well, whatever the hell kinda heebie-jeebie mumbo-jumbo that’s in it wasn’t cheap. I expect some results!”

The robed figure sighed exasperatedly. “I’ve already told you, it’s very difficult to summon a demon, and one as high level as who you’re asking us to—”

Peter crept over to the nearest individual on the outside of the circle and began untying their ropes. The lady he’d chosen to start with jumped at his touch, but she was smart and caught on quick enough. She didn’t struggle once she realized Spider-Man was there to save her. When the rope fell, Peter tipped his chin in the direction of another person. She gave him a nod and reached into her boot to pull out a switchblade.

Having helpful hostages aid you in their own escape was always a blessing. It was the ones who caused a scene and drew too much attention that Peter struggled to handle. She removed her gag and got to work on someone else while Peter moved in the opposite direction. They were just working off the last of the ropes when someone messed up and sneezed.

“Whoa!” Peter heard Deadpool shout. “Who the hell was that!?” He pointed at the robed figure, who shook his head, pointed at himself, shook his own head, and then whirled around to stare straight at the culprit who’d done it. It was the guy one over from Peter, who had just gotten his gag removed. Dust was everyone’s worst nemesis.

“Hello, Spidey! Hello, dude I kidnapped and don’t know! You’re gonna die!”

And that was all the warning Peter got before Deadpool grabbed one of his katanas and threw it like a lawn dart at the civilian. Peter’s reflexes were quick enough to shove the intended target out of the way, but it was still too close of a call.

“Aw, c’mon, Spider-Mom!” Deadpool stomped his booted foot. “You never let me have any fun!”

The metallic _snick_ of his remaining katana as it was unsheathed echoed throughout the warehouse. Peter barely had a chance to roll out of the way before Deadpool brought the blade down, hard, where he had been only seconds ago. Granted, he was using the back end of the blade and couldn’t actually cut anything with it, but it still might’ve broken a bone or left a very, _very_ bad bruise. Peter hated the idea of both of those things.

“Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to run around with sharp objects?” Peter sassed his on-again, off-again frenemy. He barely had enough time to shoot a web at a nearby rafter and avoid the next blow before it caught him in the shoulder.

“Quite the contrary, my spidery friend. Mother insisted!”

This and other banter continued as they fought inside the warehouse with Peter using his Spider-Man powers to  [dodge, duck, dip, dive… and dodge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18ASBsQfXnw) everything that Deadpool threw at him. Which was, if Peter was being honest, quite an impressive array of weaponry. Throwing stars, daggers, and even a pair of nunchucks were just a few of the items that had flown past his head. The mercenary had only managed to get in a lucky hit because Peter was momentarily distracted by the Satanists he’d left unattended.

They seemed to be doing all right now. None were tied up or gagged anymore, but, for some reason, no one thought to take Peter’s heroic distraction as a chance to escape.

That confused Peter. Why was he risking life and limb just for them to stay put and play around with the pentagram after they’d already been freed? If they were co-conspirators in whatever crazy summoning service Deadpool had wanted done, why would he need to kidnap and bully them into it in the first place? It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, so Peter turned his attention to the mysterious robed figure, still in the center of the pentagram. They were currently instructing the others to make changes to the symbols drawn on the warehouse floor.

Whatever they were doing, Peter could only imagine it as necessary so that nothing was left unfinished. Briefly, he caught himself thinking it was a shame that Greater Occult Studies had not been a major offered at his local community college. He might have had some vague notion of what they were doing otherwise.

“Missed opportunity,” Peter muttered under his breath, eying all of the Satanists scurrying around just before something sharp grazed his forearm and tore his suit.

“Nailed it!” Deadpool howled from somewhere behind him. “You’re quite the slippery little sucker, ain’t ya? Just like a real insect!”

Peter gritted his teeth.

“Spiders,” he heard himself shout, “are  **not** insects!” He didn’t have all night to waste fooling around. Playtime needed to come to an end. Now. The taunt, poorly timed after the hit, was enough to grate on Peter’s last nerve. Relying on his super senses to time it just right, he spun around and landed a kick square into Deadpool’s midsection.

The resulting impact made a thud noise so loud that Peter had to wince. He must not have held enough of his super strength back on that one. And while it stunned Deadpool, disarmed him, and likely shattered a couple of ribs, one of its unintentional consequences was that it also knocked the mercenary back against a nearby wall, which just so happened to contain the window Peter had initially snuck in through.

Seeing that the target was now neutralized, at least for the length of time it would take him to regenerate, Peter dropped his guard and walked over to where Deadpool lay slumped against the warehouse wall.

“Had enough?” Peter called out.

A wet cough resounded from the mercenary as his hand came up to grip at his chest. Oh yeah, those were broken ribs all right. “Nah.” He watched a defeated Deadpool shrug nonchalantly. “We’re just gettin’ started.”

That’s when Peter saw the glint on the anti-hero’s hand. There was something small and silver looped around one of his fingers. It almost looked like—

“[Damn if I wouldn’t kill for a sweet set of mandibles to pull this pin and laugh at you](https://youtu.be/AAzja2tWAg8?t=278).”

Oh. Peter felt his heart leap up into his throat as his Spidey-sense went haywire. That was absolutely a live grenade. All Pool would need to do was remove the pin and play keep away and they were all dead. Well, except for the regenerating degenerate. He was renowned for walking away from worse. Peter and the civilians, on the other hand, wouldn’t be anywhere near as lucky, and there just wasn’t enough time to web up Deadpool and save everyone before the explosive detonated.

“Bit of a pickle, huh, Spidey?” the mercenary taunted. Peter wasn’t sure how he knew Deadpool was smiling under the mask, but he could just tell.

_All right, Peter,_ he told himself. _Think back to that Intro to Psych 101 class you took forever and a day ago. You can do this. You can reason with an irrational person. Just keep him talking and get the grenade._

“Gonna try and get me monologuing so you can swipe this baby out of my hand?”

Peter swallowed. Pool was on to him.

“N-no,” Peter stuttered. His steps had slowed the instant he recognized the explosive for what it was. “Why would I wanna do something as cliché as that?”

His response warranted a laugh from the mercenary, who was still nursing his bruised and battered ribcage. “You’re gonna have to learn how to lie better,” he chuckled at Peter, hand still clutched close to his chest.

“Just give me the grenade, Pool. No one has to get hurt,” Peter tried, having quickly given up on the pretense of bargaining. His Spidey sense was warning him that Deadpool was just crazy enough to follow through on his threat, so he needed to focus on establishing that human connection instead of using logic. “I thought we were friends, bud. Would you threaten to blow up your bestie?”

“Friends? Friends kick each other full-force in the torso and cause massive internal bleeding?”

Peter grimaced. If he had known Pool was packing, he might have reevaluated his excessive use of force earlier. “That,” Peter faltered, “was an accident.”

“Didn’t feel like no accident to me,” Deadpool groused but didn’t make a move.

“Sorry, Pool,” Peter tried again. “How about I wait with you till ya heal up, then we get some of those tacos you’re always raving about back in Manhattan?”

The mention of Mexican got Deadpool to perk up slightly. At least Peter knew one of his weaknesses.

“Which tacos? You better not be messin’ with me and mean Taco Bell. That shit doesn’t even qualify as food.”

While Peter couldn’t exactly remember the name of the place Pool had mentioned during their last run in, he thought he could still wing this one. “Whatever place you’re in the mood for; I’m not picky.”

The wounded mercenary sat there for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of this agreement. Just when Peter thought his offer would be dismissed, Deadpool surprised him.

“Yeah, a’ight.” Then Peter watched the merc unloop the pin from his finger and hold it out. The grenade rested delicately in the palm of a black and red leather glove, seemingly benign.

Peter should have known better, but he saw a chance, so he took it. A quick thwip of webbing shot out from his wrist and stuck to the body of the explosive. With a gentle flick, Peter pulled the grenade toward himself to hang on to for safe keeping. He wasn’t expecting Deadpool to anticipate his actions and retaliate.

“Whoopsie,” the hardened mercenary giggled and held up the removed pin between his thumb and forefinger. That sonuva—with his Spider senses screaming, _DANGER, ABORT, ABORT_ , Peter did the only thing he could think of in the few seconds that remained before the grenade went off. He pitched it out the open window behind Deadpool and hoped for the best.

The explosion that resulted from the grenade detonating so close to the building was strong enough to blow out the windows and launch the two of them back into the middle of the warehouse. The walls of the structure shuddered heavily from the blast but held, which was one small blessing.

“Hahaha you shoulda seen yer face,” wheezed the mercenary from where he’d been tossed on top of the Webbed Wonder.

As much as Peter wanted to be angry about what had just happened, he was interrupted before he could even open his mouth. An eerie crimson glow had started forming beneath where he lay, and when Peter looked up, the hooded figure from before was slowly lowering their hood. Beneath the black fabric was none other than the sixth missing person Peter had been searching for all week. He recognized the man as one of the heads from New York’s main Satanic sect.

They exchanged a look before the robed man signaled to his disciples. Raising his hands ominously to the growing sounds of chanting that were starting to overtake the warehouse, the head of this group of captives had three parting words for Peter.

“Go to hell.”

Everything was red before it turned black.


End file.
